I had a bad thought
I read somewhere that after a great trauma, hair can start growing white. Like completely white.
So what I was thinking was that after the war, Terrasen went back to something similar to what was before Adarlan, but better.
A commander of the armies with golden-honey hair and flaming blue eyes, brave and noble and kind. He talks to his men as often as he can and greets them by name, asks about their families, their wives and children. He is a swordsman to behold, a warrior whose tales are told across the continent, who young boys and girls idolize. Though his ears are rounded, he will live for a long, long time. And he will remember a time when Terrasen wasn’t free. When demons plagued the land and darkness threatened the innocent.
A black haired Lady, who rules over her land in quiet peace. Who defends it with tooth and claw, literally. Her people love and respect her, but are aware of her power. She cares for her ward, who despite her scars looks beautiful and regal and has learned to be kind to others. And, sometimes, the people catch glances of a brave commander visiting as often as he can, smoothing down his golden hair before walking into her state.
A black haired King, whose kingdom had once been a foe. Sparkling blue eyes that haven’t stopped reading and will not stop for a while. A pale band of skin mars his throat, and he wonders if it will ever go away. His realm, which was once filled with fear and hate, is now ruled by love and kindness and magic flourished and is wielded to the best capacity of healers, farmers and every other who wishes to do good.
A moonlight haired witch, who rules not far from Adarlan. Her and her unit of warriors take to the skies, both for the joy of flying and the call for battle. Fearsome and undaunted, they fight battles with impossible odds and emerge victorious. By blood and the strength of her sword, she is Queen and Unifier. She brought her people home, and gave the witchlings land.
A Lady of Terrasen, young, dark haired, and cunning. Smart, clever, beautiful, kind and strong. Her dresses, reaching down to the floor, hide her ruined ankle, even if she is not ashamed of it. A dark Fae living in her lands, because, for once, he could chose for himself. Both of them ruling together.
And, in Orynth, in the court of Terrasen, are both the Queen and her Consort. The Queen’s husband is beloved by the people who were once reluctant to welcome him. He takes joy in a prosperous kingdom and in a happy marriage. And when he gazes in the mirror, he no longer sees a story of shame written on his skin, but a story of rebirth and destiny and hope. When he looks around himself, he no longer sees cold-hearted killers, but driven, focused loyal warriors sworn to a Queen worthy of an Oath.
And the Queen, bent not broken, is no longer a golden haired beauty. In her spare time, she twirls a lock around her finger and refuses to think of that dark time, in a beach, in a coffin, in a dark room filled with blood-curdling screams. She pulls back her white hair, and refuses to break. Her Prince distracts her, loves her and helps her in any way she can, but he can’t drive away every nightmare, can’t light a fire in each shadow. And even though the Queen Who Was Promised is perfectly capable of lighting her own fire, darkness hasn’t left her, and the dreams won’t stop. And she burns and burns with the magic of her Goddess, but she just can’t make dawn chase away the night